


The Wanderer

by MaiKusakabe



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family, Friendship, Gen, How do you call slowburn when it's not romantic?, I don't know how the hell to tag this, Mai does weirder shit than usual, Marco is a stubborn bastard, headcanons, in which Marco wasn't part of the Whitebeard Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2019-09-16 22:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16962645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaiKusakabe/pseuds/MaiKusakabe
Summary: In the past, whenever a crew he had been traveling with had decided to challenge one of the Yonko, Marco had left the island before said Yonko arrived, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire. But in the past, those Yonko had been Kaido and Big Mom.Whitebeard was a different story, and Marco was curious to see a Yonko’s crew in action.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well... this is a story I've been working on for quite some time. Marco-centric, as most of my stories tend to be. While it is a very clear AU, I've also included quite a lot of my personal headcanons.
> 
> The updates will be slow because I don't want to catch up with myself, but I'll try to keep them monthly at the very least.
> 
> I hope you like my weird little kid :)

The Red Horn Pirates weren’t the best pirate crew Marco had ever traveled with. Then again, they weren’t the worst one either. After the fiasco that had been the pirate crew with which Marco had entered the Grand Line through Reverse Mountain for the first time (a crew that, incidentally, had fled said sea in under a week and had been missing three quarters of their members by then), Marco had made a point of trying to discover if a pirate crew had the habit of torturing their own members before approaching the captain of said crew with his request. While not the torture-for-fun sort, the Red Horn Pirates had many of the faults of an up and coming pirate crew that had been labeled as super rookies in Paradise: they were arrogant, overconfident in their own skills, and too eager to prove themselves in the New World.

They weren’t the type of group Marco would ordinarily join for a trip into the New World of all places. He had already traveled with three such crews in the past and they had all gotten themselves destroyed in a matter of a few weeks after passing through Fishman Island. However, after two months stranded at Sabaody Archipelago without finding a single acceptable crew that was willing to brave the New World, Marco had decided to lower his standards and try his luck with the first pirates he encountered that he thought he wouldn’t want to murder halfway to Fishman Island.

Those had been the Red Horn Pirates.

Convincing them to let him tag along had been the same old routine as ever. Pirates were leery of him when Marco said that he didn’t want to _join_ their crew, just travel with them for a while, but a few well-chosen tales of the more colorful areas he had sailed in the New World overwhelmed the average navigator, and Marco just so happened to be a navigator himself; one with experience sailing the New World that could help the crew’s navigator learn the ropes quickly and without mishaps.

Unfortunately, Marco had been right in thinking this wasn’t a crew he would have chosen to travel with if he hadn’t been so fed up with Sabaody. Yesterday, they had reached an island that was under the protection of the Whitebeard Pirates, and the captain —cocky, arrogant, and conceited man that he was— had loudly declared the place was now _theirs_. Immediately afterwards, he had ordered the citizens to call the Whitebeard Pirates here, claiming that he would take Whitebeard’s head himself.

In the past, whenever a crew he had been traveling with had decided to challenge one of the Yonko, Marco had left the island before said Yonko arrived, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire. But in the past, those Yonko had been Kaido and Big Mom, both of them known for their unreasonable dispositions when challenged and a tendency towards cruelty, sadism, and razing islands to the ground when angered.

Whitebeard was a different story, and Marco _was_ curious to see a Yonko’s crew in action. It had been a long time since he had last seen a truly powerful crew firsthand. He intended to stay well away from the fight, of course, but he had remained on the island.

 

* * *

 

 

Two days after the Red Horn Pîrates’ arrival at the island, the Moby Dick appeared on the horizon.

Marco settled himself comfortably against a chimney on the rooftop of a tall house three streets away from the port, and observed as the Red Horn Pirates assembled there and tried to appear dignified and confident while their opponents approached.

Ideally, Marco would have stayed out of the citizens’ sight for the past two days and then remained hidden until the Whitebeard Pirates left, but there were bound to be a number of haki users on board that ship, so Marco hadn’t bothered to hide himself. He would simply fly away if the situation called for it. He did have a log pose aiming to three possible destinations, after all. Haki; that was another reason the Red Horn Pirates were in way over their heads. While they had some promising fighters amongst their numbers, none of them were haki users. Marco wasn’t sure they even _knew_ what haki was.

There was a long silence after the Red Horn Pirates’ captain issued his challenge, tense on that crew’s side and eager on the Whitebeard Pirates’. The citizens had long since vacated the port town. Finally, men started to jump down from the Moby Dick. Only around a fourth of them, Marco estimated, and Whitebeard remained standing on the figurehead. He didn’t appear to have any intention to fight, despite the Red Horn’s captain attempts to draw him out (until he was attacked by Diamond Jozu, that was; then he was too busy trying to stay alive to pay attention to anything else). It was disappointing. Marco had stayed behind hoping to see Whitebeard in action.

After twenty minutes of battle, in which it became clear that the Red Horn Pirates were only still standing because the Whitebeard Pirates were drawing things out intentionally, Marco decided he had seen enough. He let himself fall down the side of the house farthest from the port, fully intending to run to an area of the island where he could take flight without being stopped by anyone.

Before he could start running, however, he had to jump back because the building he had just been perched on went up in flames.

_Well, fuck_ , he thought in annoyance, turning to face the fire that had just unnaturally extinguished itself.

“Going somewhere?” asked a voice from the other side of the column of smoke. A column of smoke that, Marco noticed, came from the smoldering remains of the wooden houses in the three streets that had separated him from the port.

“Ace, damnit! We’re supposed to _protect_ this place, not burn it down!” someone else yelled.

Marco would have run again, except that he could sense people surrounding him now, just out of sight from the street, and he figured he had a better chance to get out of this mess without a huge fight if he didn’t kill any of Whitebeard’s men. He had heard the stories.

“Oh, come on! He was trying to run!” the first voice yelled back, and the smoke had now cleared enough that Marco could make out the form of Fire Fist Ace. Portgas D. Ace had joined the Whitebeard Pirates three weeks ago, after months of no news of him appearing on the newspaper. That absence had brought on a lot of speculation about Fire Fist’s possible death in a freak accident at sea or something, given how often he had made it to the first few pages of the newspaper before his sudden disappearance.

Marco raised his hands when the first of the men appeared around the smoke. Fire Fist was still being yelled at by whoever the other voice belonged to.

“I’m not fighting,” Marco told the men that had surrounded him. He was surprised they hadn’t attacked him right away, though their faces suggested they had expected to find a charred corpse instead of an uninjured living person. “I’m not part of the crew.”

One of the men to his right snorted.

“Yeah, sure. Like we don’t hear that shit from a lot of assholes when they see they’ve lost.”

Marco shrugged, empty hands pointedly still up.

“I wouldn’t know. But I haven’t attacked anyone. And I’m not armed.” It was not possible to keep unnoticed anything larger than a letter opener in his clothes. The men around him exchanged a few looks.

Marco had proof that these weren’t the sort of pirates to kill for no reason when they didn’t attack him in spite of his claims. It was clear from a few of their expressions that they didn’t believe him and thought he was just a coward (Marco didn’t give a fuck what a bunch of pirates thought of him), but that didn’t stop the one closest to him from finally speaking.

“Okay, let’s put him somewhere on sight.” He grabbed Marco’s arm and gestured for the rest to follow. Marco let himself be dragged off.

“You’re not going to kill everybody?” he asked curiously, grateful that they hadn’t resorted to just knocking him out. Marco was good at feigning unconsciousness, but he didn’t want to test if he could fool some of the people here, and the last thing he wanted was for someone to think he was trying to pull a fast one on them and decide to kill him. _That_ would be a problem.

He didn’t receive a response. He hadn’t expected one.

“If you move,” one of the men told him once they reached a corner in the port area, away from alleyways and in sight of most of the battlefield, “you’re dead. Nobody in the crew will attack you if you stay quiet.”

Marco nodded, biting back a dubious comment and the observation that this corner would leave most people completely defenseless against an attack.

He plopped down on the floor, brought his knees up to his chest in an attempt not to look too relaxed, and settled to play the coward who didn’t dare attack the Whitebeard Pirates. The Red Horn Pirates would get their asses handed over to them, they would all be dragged off to an island that wasn’t part of Whitebeard’s territory (it was, according to the rumors, the standard procedure the Whitebeard Pirates followed for the crews that weren’t annihilated, and the Red Horn Pirates had done nothing to warrant annihilation so far), and Marco would look for a new crew. He didn’t think he would be allowed to stay after refusing to fight, not that he would want to anyway after this stupid mess.

Only the strongest members of the crew remained standing at this point, and Marco still maintained that it was because the Whitebeard Pirates were holding back. Everyone else was unconscious, maybe dead, or just sprawled pitifully on the ground, and most of the Whitebeard Pirates were simply cheering on their crewmates by now. Aside from Jozu, there were two other commanders present: Vista and Thatch.

Marco would later blame it on the attack being no real threat to him, but whatever the reason, he had been too distracted analyzing Vista’s impressive sword techniques to pay any attention to the bullet shot in his direction.

 

* * *

 

 

Ace wasn’t in a good mood. He had been _kicked out of the fight_.

All right, he could admit that burning those houses down had been kind of a dick move to the owners, but at the moment he had only thought that the guy on the roof was getting away and could decide to attack the citizens as some sort of twisted revenge for their defeat. According to a handful of stories he had heard, it wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to do that. Except that the guy on the roof didn’t even have the guts to fight them, and had let himself be captured without putting up any kind of a fight. Whenever Ace encountered someone like that, he wondered why the hell they were even in the New World in the first place.

Now, the rest of the members of this crew were a different story. While nowhere approaching the power of the commanders, they had some very promising fighters, and aside from the stunt they had pulled to draw the Whitebeard Pirates here, they had fought without using any dirty tricks. Ace wouldn’t be surprised if Pops offered them to become their allies once this fight was over. Provided that they hadn’t hurt anyone on the island in the time it had taken the Moby Dick to arrive, of course.

Ace was now watching as the captain, barely on his feet by now, still tried to find a way past Jozu’s defenses —he wouldn’t find one, Ace had lost against Jozu a handful of times during his assassin days, and he was way stronger than this captain. Ace shook his head when, with a grimace of rage, the man pulled out a gun. Guns didn’t work on Jozu, Ace thought that much had been established early on during the fight. Except that the man didn’t fire at Jozu. He raised his arm to the side and shot, yelling something that Ace didn’t hear because he was too busy following the trajectory of the bullet in shocked horror.

Straight to the man-no-longer-on-the-roof’s forehead.

_Nononono_ , Ace chanted frantically in his mind, horrified, because he had been the one to draw attention to the man, who wouldn’t have been sitting exposed there otherwise, and it wasn’t the same thing killing an enemy in a fight than causing the death of _someone_ _who_ _hadn’t attacked anyone_.

The shot cut through the cheering and the few remaining sounds of battle, and Ace was vaguely aware that he wasn’t the only one staring.

A trail of blood trickled down the man’s face, but he did not fall. Before the eyes of the astonished audience, a bright blue light — _fire_ — bloomed around the wound, and the man raised a steady hand to his forehead. By the time he touched it, there was no trace of the wound save for the blood still on his face.

“Fuck,” the man swore, loud and clear amidst the stunned silence, and he focused annoyed eyes on the captain — _his captain_ — who had just tried to kill him. “What the hell was that for?” he asked in a perfectly even tone, as if being shot at was a daily occurrence.

Ace shouldn’t be so freaked out, he was a logia user unaffected by bullets himself, but there was blood and logia users _did not bleed_ from attacks that didn’t affect them. And they sure as hell didn’t heal from wounds that _had_ caused damage.

_What the fuck is that power?_

“Y-You’re a devil fruit user?!” the captain yelled in outrage, the gun still aimed at the man. “Then why the hell aren’t you helping?!”

“I told you,” the man started, and his calm voice was still there, with just a touch of bored exasperation that made absolutely no sense, “that I am not part of your crew. And I _also_ told you that this,” he gestured vaguely around at the now halted battle with one arm, “was a stupid idea. I said I wouldn’t participate.”

Everybody just kind of stared for a moment. The still conscious Red Horn Pirates were so surprised that Ace would bet the captain hadn’t been the only one who didn’t know this man was a devil fruit user (but, Ace noted darkly, none of them appeared bothered about their captain shooting him), and the Whitebeard Pirates were mostly as disconcerted by the situation as Ace was.

“Did you shoot him because he didn’t fight?” Jozu asked the captain, and by now Ace knew him well enough to realize he was pissed off even if it didn’t really show in his voice or on his face. “Even though he said he wouldn’t?”

“Of course!” the captain exclaimed. “I thought he couldn’t fight, not that he was just a coward!”

That was the moment Jozu stopped holding back, because if there was something the Whitebeard Pirates didn’t tolerate, it was those who attacked others for stupid reasons. Jozu punched the captain into the ground so hard the stone cracked a good five feet around the crater, and half of Jozu’s fist disappeared into it.

The remaining Red Horn Pirates wisely dropped their weapons. The man in the corner raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. He didn’t look afraid.

The ground shook behind Ace, and he turned to see Pops had jumped down from the ship.

“And here I was thinking of offering you guys to become our allies,” Pops said, confirming Ace’s thoughts. “What do we do now?”

It was a good question, because while that action was enough to discard the Red Horn Pirates as potential allies, it wasn’t reason enough to kill them all. And yet, after that show, Ace wouldn’t put it past them to let their frustration out on innocent people.

Ace looked around at the others.

“Sink their ship and drop them off in some jungle island with some food?”

Snickers all around.

“That’s not very different from killing them,” Thatch pointed out.

“K-Kill us?” one of their nearby enemies stammered. Ace guessed the possibility of death in battle wasn’t the same as being executed.

“We’re considering it,” Thatch said, nowhere near his usual cheerful self. “Your captain looks kinda unstable; we don’t want him anywhere near our territories.”

“We’ll stay away!” someone promised hurriedly.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco observed the scene, not caring much what the Whitebeard Pirates chose to do with their enemies. If nothing else, that shot had confirmed that Marco wasn’t one of the Red Horn Pirates, and he was hoping he could just get away from here on his own now. He hadn’t attacked anyone, after all.

With his senses much more alert now, he noticed the moment someone approached him, and he was surprised to see the one ignoring the loud argument and walking up to him was none other than Whitebeard himself. By the time Whitebeard was crouching (still towering) before Marco, the port had fallen silent again. If Marco couldn’t fly, he would have been trapped in that corner.

“So, what is that fruit of yours?” Whitebeard asked, curious.

Marco could see some people trying to peer around Whitebeard with varying degrees of success.

“A regenerative one,” Marco replied vaguely. Not a lie, but not the truth. Marco wasn’t very keen on putting all his cards on the table.

“One hell of a regenerative power,” Whitebeard commented, amusement plain in his voice. That was a good sign, Marco hoped. “That was a mortal wound.”

Marco moved for the first time in a while, pushing his legs slightly away from his chest, and shrugged.

“Your definition of mortal and mine are not the same.”

There was a comment that might have been a snorted ‘no shit’ in the background, but any responses were mostly drowned by Whitebeard’s booming laughter.

“I saw,” Whitebeard said, a huge grin on his face.

A yell came from behind him, followed by running and a short scuffle, but Whitebeard didn’t pay it any attention and Marco didn’t move his eyes away from him.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Marco started, and he really struggled to keep his voice civil and devoid of the sarcasm or annoyance that would usually have accompanied such words, “but is there any particular reason you’re talking to me? I’m not even part of the crew.”

“That’s exactly why,” Whitebeard said. “Why are you traveling with a pirate crew if you’re not a pirate yourself? And why didn’t you get the hell away from this island if you didn’t want to fight us?”

“I was curious. I’ve never seen a Yonko before,” Marco said, ignoring the first question because that was no one’s business and absolutely irrelevant to the conversation. His words weren’t technically a lie: the only Yonko Marco had met in the past had been far from that level of power at the time.

Whitebeard laughed again, and Marco guessed many people would be offended (or terrified), but he didn’t mind that Whitebeard found him amusing. A good number of members of both crews were unashamedly staring by now. Marco didn’t know if it was normal for Whitebeard to be interested in random people, but he would say no, or at least the Whitebeard Pirates wouldn’t be paying so much attention to them.

“Dangerous, don’t you think?” Whitebeard asked.

Marco just shrugged again.

“I wasn’t counting on someone throwing a column of fire at me.”

“It was a fireball!” Fire Fist yelled from somewhere behind Whitebeard, to general snickers and some comments Marco didn’t bother listening to.

“If that’s all,” Marco said, when Whitebeard didn’t do more than look far too piercingly at him, “may I go?” He stood up slowly, mostly to avoid any other trigger-happy pirates reacting than anything else.

“No,” said Whitebeard, and the joking behind him stopped suddenly.

“Huh? You think he’s dangerous, Pops?” asked incredulously someone whose voice Marco recognized as the one who had scolded Fire Fist earlier. From this angle, he could identify the person as Third Division Commander Thatch. Marco would bet Thatch didn’t think him strong past his regenerative abilities, judging by his tone. Some whispered comments agreed with his assessment.

“Yes,” said Whitebeard with certainty, and the silence came right back.

Marco cursed in his mind, but didn’t let it show on his face.

“What?! But he didn’t even want to fight!” This voice Marco recognized as well, this time as the man who had said they would kill him earlier if he moved.

Whitebeard smiled. It was not a threatening expression, but Marco didn’t trust it one bit.

“I don’t think he’s a threat to anyone here, but he’s certainly dangerous.” Whitebeard looked him up and down again, and Marco was sure now he saw much more in him than Marco was comfortable with.

“I think you’re exaggerating a little,” Marco said, keeping his voice calm because he had never been good at faking incredulity, and much less humility. “I’m not particularly strong.”

“Really?” Whitebeard asked, and Marco nodded. “Let’s see about that.”

And, with no further warning, in one fluid movement Whitebeard rose to his feet, raised his bisento, and struck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said on tumblr I'd be updating on the 24th, so here I am :)
> 
> I hope everybody has a fantastic time, whether you celebrate a holiday or not ^^

“What the fuck?!” Thatch yelled, and Ace fully shared the sentiment.

They had barely had any time to run away from where Pops had been crouching before he stood up and attacked, and they had only managed it because they knew him well enough (Ace from his murder attempts, the rest of the crew from time and experience) to recognize his intentions the moment the ‘really?’ had left his lips.

Pops didn’t just _fight_ anyone. Whenever they were challenged —which had happened three times since Ace’s arrival, one of them after he had officially joined the crew— he allowed the crew to have their fun unless he had a personal interest in someone. Like with Ace. But Pops didn’t _attack_ people, and Ace hadn’t imagined he would attack someone who had claimed openly he didn’t want to fight.

But there it was, the buildings that had formed that corner destroyed and a massive cloud of dust obstructing their view.

_And_ I _got scolded_.

“He’s killed him…” came the words from behind Ace, and he had to agree. Whatever Pops had said about the man —and Ace didn’t know where he had gotten the idea, because weird regenerative powers didn’t mean _strength_ by any stretch of the word— there were very few people who could counter such a direct attack from _Whitebeard_. Much less without receiving proper warning first. Maybe the guy had survived the strike, it depended on how strong his regenerative powers were, but Ace imagined there was a very distinctive human-shaped hole in the pavement right now.

The air shivered unnaturally with a technique Ace was already becoming familiar with and the dust was shaken away from the scene.

There was indeed a dent in the pavement, but it was just the mark of the bisento having been embedded in it. The man was standing in the middle of the rubble, unharmed and looking very much annoyed.

“What was _that_ for?” he demanded, amazingly not intimidated for someone who had just been attacked by Whitebeard.

“Just a little test. You have impressive reflexes,” Pops said with a laugh, and Ace saw several of his crewmates exchanging surprised looks. It was no small thing that Pops complimented someone’s skills. “Tell me, what’s your name, son?”

“It’s none of your business,” the man said.

Ace knew what Pops’ next words would be even before he spoke.

“Rude…” He chuckled, and extended his free hand. “Would you like to join my crew and become my son?”

Someone groaned nearby.

“No,” the man replied just as predictably. Despite his current stance in the crew, Ace could sympathize; he had been in a similar position not so long ago.

At least the man hadn’t attacked Pops.

“Why not?” Pops asked, undeterred.

“I don’t join pirate crews.”

“But you travel with them,” Pops pointed out, and the man just shrugged. “Then what’s the difference?”

“I can leave whenever I want.”

“That sounds lonely. Why don’t you join us? You won’t have any reason to leave.”

“Because,” the man enunciated slowly, ”I don’t want to.” Ace was kind of impressed that he dared to speak so contemptuously to a Yonko, and had to reevaluate his opinion of him.

“Oh, come on, Pops!” Thatch exclaimed. “We just tamed an assassin wannabe, we don’t need you bringing another so soon!”

“Fuck off, Thatch,” Ace snapped, aiming a kick at him that Thatch dodged.

Pops laughed.

“Sorry, son, but he’s coming.”

“No, I’m not,” the man repeated, and then suddenly vanished.

Ace blinked.

“The fuck?”

Pops punched the air, sending everybody scrambling for cover, and a large mass of blue fire glided close to the ground to avoid the shockwave. A _bird_ , Ace noticed in astonishment before it transformed into the man.

“What the fuck sort of devil fruit is that?” someone, one of the conscious Red Horn Pirates, asked, incredulous.

Ace had no idea.

“Interesting,” Pops said. “That’s the mythical zoan phoenix, isn’t it?”

Someone behind Ace choked.

“You’re kidding, right?” Thatch asked from Ace’s left, his eyes wide, but before Ace could ask what was so special about that fruit, the man _charged at Pops_.

It was kind of gratifying to know Ace wasn’t the only suicidal idiot around.

Pops blocked the attack, of course, but Ace’s jaw dropped open when Pops’ feet skidded back a few inches as a result of the impact of his bisento against the man’s right talon —not foot, Ace noticed numbly; the rest of his body was still human.

They both jumped back, Pops to the middle of the port area and the man to land into a crouch on the roof of a nearby building.

Ace could hear the gentle ocean waves in the dead silence that followed.

“You really aren’t letting me go, are you?” the man asked finally.

“Sorry kid, but I like you.”

“I’m no kid,” the man said, moving to stand straight.

“Then what’s your name?”

“Fuck off.”

Pops laughed. Everyone else just sort of stared in astonishment. Ace wondered if this was how the rest of the crew had felt about him. Now that he wasn’t the one being antagonistic, he had to admit it took some serious balls to stand up to Pops and insult and attack him like that.

“So, we have a bit of a problem. You can fly, but I can affect the air and prevent you from leaving that way. Will you come along?”

The man just stared at Pops for a long moment. When Ace thought he would agree, he fell into a fighting stance.

“Let’s do something: If I beat you, your crew lets me go without interfering.”

Ace was sure his jaw wasn’t the only one that slackened. Again. Someone was too full of himself (and, yes, Ace was fully aware of the irony of _him_ of all people having that thought).

_What…?_

Pops rumbled with laughter.

“And if I win?”

“Then I’m tagging along with you. Not joining your crew, but you can try to convince me.”

“Will you try to murder me meanwhile?” Pops asked with amusement, and Ace was sure he had thrown a quick glance in his direction.

“I don’t do murder,” the man said.

Pops grinned widely.

“You have yourself a deal, son.”

The man disappeared from the rooftop, and Pops took off at a run down a street, heading away from the port.

“That guy,” Thatch said after a long stretch of silence, “is absolutely fucking nuts.”

Ace turned around to stare at the others, just now realizing that everyone who had remained on the Moby Dick was standing at the port.

“Okay, bets!” Came the yell from the back of the crowd, and a lot of replies followed.

“Ten thousand beli say five minutes!”

“Don’t be an idiot, the guy regenerates! Make it ten!”

“Twelve! He’s _fast_!”

“Twenty! Those reflexes are good!”

Ace bet on eighteen minutes, and someone went to dig up a bunch of binoculars from the ship so they could watch the fight from a safe distance.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco didn’t know what had gotten into his head. The only reason he had tried to flee was because Whitebeard’s stubbornness (like that of all other Yonko) was legendary, and he had known he couldn’t talk his way out of being dragged into the crew once Whitebeard had stated in such clear terms that he wanted Marco to join. Why he wanted him in his crew in the first place was beyond Marco’s comprehension.

He hadn’t counted on the fact that Whitebeard’s infamous devil fruit power allowed him to affect an impressive range of space.

Attacking Whitebeard had been an incredibly stupid move, he could admit as much, but sometimes, mainly when he was too pissed off or too worried, Marco didn’t think before acting, and for a moment there he hadn’t cared who he was up against.

The deal had been the only chance out of the situation he had been able to come up with. The element of surprise about flying hadn’t been enough to get away and now the rest of the crew would be paying attention as well. Marco knew that Whitebeard was stronger than him, he wasn’t nearly so arrogant as to think otherwise, but Marco was reasonably sure that he was faster. Marco was counting on his speed and regenerative powers to give him a chance to wear Whitebeard down.

If not, he would either prove that he wouldn’t join them or get away when Whitebeard lowered his guard.

But that was a problem for another time. Right now, Marco was busy trying to dodge as many blows as he could, because his regenerative power _did_ have a limit, even if a very high one, and he was fighting the person most likely to surpass it.

He managed to slip past Whitebeard’s guard long enough to kick him on the stomach, which didn’t earn him more than a flinch from Whitebeard, and was cut through a wing for his efforts before he could fly away. He had to drop to the ground to avoid a shockwave thrown at him. They were out in the fields now, which meant he didn’t have to worry about debris falling down on him from those attacks.

“What’s so bad about joining a pirate crew?” Whitebeard asked.

Marco flew up, quickly circling around him, and his foot collided with the blade of the bisento where it had blocked his way to Whitebeard’s head.

“It’s just not my thing,” Marco replied. He pushed back, kicking the blade with his other foot with enough strength to push the weapon out of the way.

Whitebeard blocked his next kick with his haki-imbued forearm, preventing Marco from drawing blood.

“Have you tried it?”

Marco launched himself upwards to avoid the blade aimed at his midsection.

“No.”

“Then that’s a shit excuse,” Whitebeard decided with a wide grin.

Marco glared at him from above.

“It’s still _my_ shit excuse. And my choice.”

Whitebeard laughed.

“Sorry, kid, but I like you. You’re coming.”

They clashed again.

 

* * *

 

 

“Okay,” Thatch said after the first hour of fighting was over, lowering the binoculars and handing them over to Vista. “Somebody go find that guy’s wanted poster. _Now_.”

They had checked the Red Horn Pirates when they had received their challenge, just like they always did, and this man hadn’t come up. Of course, if he wasn’t part of the crew as he had claimed —and Thatch was inclined to believe him by this point— and no news about him traveling with the crew had come out through any channels, it made sense that they hadn’t learned of his presence until now.

“Ah, excuse me…” a voice called to him hesitantly, and when Thatch looked in that direction he saw one of the members of the aforementioned crew with a hand slightly raised.

“What?” Thatch asked, trying to keep his hostility tuned down. These guys were already defeated, mostly unconscious, and he doubted they would try anything. Thatch still didn’t like them.

“He… doesn’t have a bounty. We checked.”

Someone dropped their binoculars. Thatch would have, too, if he had still been holding them.

He turned to look in the direction of the fields, just in time to watch a small building (a barn, perhaps?) be blown into pieces from an attack. Then he looked at the hesitant man again.

“You’re kidding, right?” Thatch asked, jabbing a thumb pointedly in the direction of the fight.

The man shook his head vigorously, looking at him with wide eyes. Thatch belatedly realized he wasn’t one of the members of the crew with a price on their heads, which probably meant he wasn’t that strong and, if his body language was anything to go by, it was taking all he had just to stand there and talk to Thatch.

“We didn’t find it. We really thought he wasn’t strong.”

“Then why was he with you?” Jozu, who had just taken the binoculars from Vista, asked.

“He’s a navigator. I… well, I don’t know much of how to navigate the New World; it’s kind of intimidating…” He scratched at his right wrist, where he had a broken New World log pose. “He said he’d been to the New World before and offered to teach me.”

“Is he any good?” Vista asked.

The ground shook violently, fortunately not enough to bring any buildings down, and most of the Red Horn Pirates lost their balance and fell to the ground. Thatch grabbed the navigator, who had gone white, to keep him standing.

“Pops missed,” Jozu informed them. Relaying if the attacks that caused a tremor had any effect was the job of whoever was watching.

“Well?” Thatch asked the navigator, who seemed to have forgotten the question in favor of staring in horror in the direction of the fight.

“Oh! Y-Yeah, he’s good. Pretty amazing, really.” Here he frowned. “I think the captain wanted to ask him to join our crew after this.”

Ace, who had been silent up until this point, scoffed derisively.

“He wants him to join the crew but shoots him the moment he’s annoyed? Your captain is a scumbag.”

The navigator glared at him, clearly disagreeing, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

“Hey,” Thatch realized suddenly, “you guys know his name?”

The navigator nodded, but didn’t speak.

“Well?” Vista prompted.

The navigator’s eyes trailed over to the fight again.

“He… didn’t want to tell you…”

Thatch snorted.

“Listen, he may be scary as fuck,” because anyone who could hold their own in an one to one fight for an entire hour against Pops when Pops was _fighting seriously_ qualified as scary as fuck in Thatch’s books; half the commanders couldn’t do that, “but you’re stuck with us now.” He very pointedly gestured around at the gathered Whitebeard Pirates. “I think we’re the most immediate threat.” The navigator gulped. “Besides, he’ll be unconscious by the time Pops is done with him, so you’re not even gonna talk to him again.”

“Marco. He said his name is Marco.”

“And why did he want to travel with you?” Thatch asked, because, gunshot aside, he didn’t think this Marco cared much for the Red Horn Pirates, or he would have helped them during the fight. He was certainly strong enough to have had an impact in the battle.

“He’s a cartographer. A very good one. Said he wanted to draw the New World. He’s drawn a few maps for us, too.”

Thatch looked around, just then realizing something.

“Shouldn’t we get his stuff if he’s coming with us?”

With a few nods, a group of guys grabbed one of the conscious Red Horn Pirates and dragged him off to that crew’s ship.

A distant booming crash had Thatch turning around, but it was too late to see what had happened. Jozu’s grimace, however, told him it was nothing good.

“The mill just went down.”

Thatch sighed.

“Oi, Vista! Can you call the other ships? We’re gonna need a shit ton of money to compensate the locals for the damage at this rate.”

 

* * *

 

 

Whitebeard was a persistent son of a bitch. That was one of the main thoughts running through Marco’s head as he narrowly avoided crashing into the surface of a hill after he had been punched.

“Tired yet?” asked Whitebeard when Marco stopped in the air a few feet away from him. He sounded so amused that Marco wanted to kick him on the face, but the head was pretty much the only place where he hadn’t managed to land a blow yet.

“Not at all. What? Your age’s starting to catch up to you?”

Whitebeard laughed.

“Cheeky brat.”

Marco’s left leg went up in flames when he didn’t manage to entirely avoid the following attack. Flying attacks, especially those powered by haki _and_ paramecia earthquake devil fruits, were a pain in the ass.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the crew was coming. Thatch didn’t think they would make it in time, because while Moby Three had to be only some three hours away by now, Moby Two was a day away, and Moby Four had three days to go. But everybody had been very interested by what was going on, and they wanted to meet their new brother. A new brother who was _still fighting Pops_. Marco had gone from ‘scary as fuck’ to ‘I don’t know how we’ll deal with this guy if he decides to follow in Ace’s footsteps’ sometime during sunset.

It was approaching midnight and the battle didn’t look like it would be ending anytime soon. Everybody was still awake and commenting, even though they couldn’t see anything through the binoculars anymore. The occasional flash of blue light was the only indicator for the non-haki users of the current location of Pops and Marco.

A third round of bets was being taken right now because in the first two no one had bet that the battle would last this long, and Thatch had just sat down from coordinating a very late dinner for everybody. Ace was wolfing down the plates that had originally been set aside for Pops and Marco. Vista had gone a while ago to look for the citizens and calm them down, given that they were bound to be terrified thinking that they were facing an enemy powerful enough to give the Whitebeard Pirates trouble. Jozu had confiscated the treasure from the Red Horn Pirates’ ship, which would be used to help repair the massive amount of damage that was being caused to the island.

“You know, Thatch,” Ace started once he was done eating, “you’re a hypocrite.”

“Why?” Thatch asked distractedly. The bright blue flame rose high into the sky before diving down at a speed that had to be dizzying at close proximity.

“You kicked me out of the fight for burning down a couple houses, but Pops has destroyed like half the crops of the island and you haven’t said a word.”

“Are you volunteering to interrupt that fight, brat?”

“No, but you should.” Ace grinned at him.

“Not suicidal. That’s your tune,” Thatch reminded him.

 

* * *

 

 

Sengoku hated to be called to work late at night.

If someone decided it was necessary to wake him up, it meant something _bad_ was going on. The last time something bad had been going on the Revolutionary Army had coordinated to overthrow two governments in one night, taking out a considerable battalion of marines in the process and converting the local armies to their cause.

“What’s the crisis?” he asked Brannew. Sengoku headed straight for the teapot, which mercifully already held hot water. If he had to spend at least an entire night of chaos, he would need the help.

“The Whitebeard Pirates have entered a battle.”

“You woke me up for that?” Sengoku turned to Brannew, annoyed.

He knew none of the other Yonko had been anywhere close to Whitebeard —he made a point of staying updated on all the Yonko’s whereabouts, if only for his own peace of mind— and he couldn’t think of a single other pirate crew that would give Whitebeard trouble. The only criminals strong enough to be a nuisance to him were the Revolutionary Army, and Whitebeard was much more likely to help Dragon than to fight him if they ever met. Which Sengoku fervently hoped would _never_ happen.

Brannew fidgeted, and gave the impression that he very much wanted to be anywhere but here.

“We don’t know what’s going on, sir. According to the reports from the ships keeping track of the Moby Dick, the Whitebeard Pirates received a challenge from a rookie pirate crew two days ago. The Red Horn Pirates, nothing of import. The battle shouldn’t have taken long, even had Whitebeard been alone, and there were three commanders with him.”

“But?” Sengoku asked, not sure he wanted to know. Aside from taking in Roger’s son (which was still a serious source of annoyance for those who knew about it) Whitebeard hadn’t done much worth of serious concern in years.

“Ten hours ago, a series of tremors suggesting Whitebeard had entered the battle started. They haven’t stopped yet.”

Sengoku cursed under his breath. He turned to the teapot again and finally poured himself a cup of the water there. It didn’t look like he would be going back to sleep anytime soon.

“Are you sure nobody in that crew is strong enough to be fighting him?” The question was a formality more than anything else, because anybody, even an entire group, strong enough to fight Whitebeard for _ten hours straight_ would have raised the government’s alarms long ago if they had done anything to earn themselves a bounty. While Sengoku remembered reading about the Red Horn Pirates a number of times, their actions had been average enough for notorious rookies. Nothing like Portgas D. Ace’s exploits a few months ago.

“Nobody,” Brannew confirmed.

Sengoku spooned some tea leaves into his cup and left them to steep.

“Do we have any pictures?”

“No, sir. Our ships cannot approach the island enough without drawing the Whitebeard Pirates’ attention for visual den den mushis or cameras to be of any use.”

Sengoku sighed.

“Send someone to trace back the Red Horn Pirates’ route and investigate if they have picked up any new members. Whoever this is, we need to know about them.”

Brannew saluted and left.

Sengoku leaned back against the counter and glared down at his tea. He really hoped whoever this was, it wasn’t someone Whitebeard wanted in his crew. The last thing they needed was to add _another_ overpowered monster to that particular lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite recent events, I'm still certain that Marco has navigation skills, and I'll hold onto that headcanon until Oda rips it from my cold, dead hands.
> 
> And I so love to give Sengoku aneurysms.


	3. Chapter 3

There were still a few hours left before dawn by the time the Moby Three reached its destination. Izo raised an eyebrow when he saw the current crew of the Moby Dick (and a few people he didn’t recognize who he guessed were their enemies) spread all over the port with bonfires illuminating the area. Some were asleep, using crewmembers or random pieces of clothing as pillows, but the majority of them were still awake.

It didn’t take long for Izo to spot Jozu’s hulking form, and he approached. Jozu was asleep, and so was Vista next to him; Ace had that face that indicated he had just woken up, and Thatch was using Jozu as a backrest but was clearly awake.

“Someone mind explaining what’s going on?”

Thatch pointed lazily towards an area deeper into the island. As if on cue, a bright flash of blue shone there before it disappeared into the darkness.

“Over there,” Thatch started, dropping his arm, “is Pops, fighting a guy named Marco that he wants to join the crew. Marco disagrees.”

“Really?” Izo asked, and looked down at Ace. “We have another you?”

Ace grinned sheepishly up at him.

“Not really. He said he’s not into murder, so there’s that.”

“Lucky us,” Thatch muttered. “You should sit for this, Izo.”

Izo gave him a skeptical look, but did as he was told. In his call, Vista had only said they had a prospective new brother who was as eager to join them as Ace had been at first, but Pops really wanted him to join the crew and was trying to convince him. It had drawn everybody’s attention, because Pops rarely was so insistent on having a person join their crew; if someone asked, they were more than welcome, and if Pops met someone he liked, he offered them to join, but as a general rule he respected a refusal.

“All right, and what’s the big deal? Can’t Pops just knock him out like he did with Ace? I’m sure if we convinced _him_ , we can convince this Marco.”

Thatch snorted.

“That’s what Pops has been trying to do. For the past… what, eleven hours?”

“Twelve!” someone yelled.

Izo was vaguely aware that he wasn’t the only one who had gone silent; everybody who had disembarked with him was processing that little tidbit.

He turned to Ace.

“You said he’s not going to pull any murder attempts?”

 

* * *

 

 

Night provided no cover when both you and your opponent were haki users, it simply made it slightly more difficult to avoid causing collateral damage. Marco had crashed through a couple of the buildings scattered amongst the fields since sunset, but he was proud to say that he had managed to throw Whitebeard into one as well.

“Aren’t you supposed to protect this place? Destroying it kind of defies the point,” Marco said from above, circling Whitebeard and looking for any openings.

“We’ll help fix the damage, don’t worry about that,” Whitebeard told him, infuriatingly amused. “Are you worried about the townspeople or just looking for a way to convince me to stop?”

“A little of both,” Marco admitted, because while he did feel bad about the amount of people they had screwed over with their fight, he mainly wanted to get Whitebeard off his case. “You’re a pretty destructive guy.”

Whitebeard laughed.

“My fights don’t usually take this long.”

“Mh. Thanks for the compliment, I guess.” Marco threw himself to the right to avoid the shockwave aimed at him, veered down, transformed completely, and attacked.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time dawn arrived, the majority of the crew had passed out. The only commander still conscious was Izo, who had spent most of the time before reaching the island sleeping. Ace was sitting next to him; he had been dozing off and waking up for most of the night and wasn’t tired now.

“Do you have any idea why Pops is so insistent on getting this guy in the crew?” Izo asked softly, trying not to wake anyone up.

“No,” Ace replied, shaking his head. “He didn’t even fight, before. We were all convinced he was just a weakling until Pops approached to talk to him. Before we knew it, this was happening.” Ace gestured helplessly in the general direction of the fight. “I have no idea how Pops even knew he was this strong.”

Izo hummed and looked sideways at him.

“Pops sees much more in people than most of us do. When we first met you, very few of us would have wanted you on board if he hadn’t said so.”

Ace snorted, amused.

“Can’t blame you. I wouldn’t have wanted me on board either.”

 

* * *

 

 

Marco crashed on his back with enough force that the impact would have broken his spine if he hadn’t imbued his back with haki. Whitebeard’s large right hand held his torso against a vertical part of the base of the hill, and he stared steadily at Marco.

“I think I win,” Whitebeard said seriously, though there was an amused smile tugging at his lips. Fortunately, it wasn’t a mocking one.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Marco countered. His legs were still free and, transforming them as quickly as he could, Marco slammed his haki-imbued talons back with all his strength. The rock cracked behind him and rubble started to tumble down. Whitebeard’s hold slackened enough for Marco to transform his arms and push back through the weakened stone. Whitebeard backed away from the wreckage that was now this side of the hill and Marco rose into the air.

Then Whitebeard started to laugh.

“I haven’t had a fight this fun in a long time!” he exclaimed, moving back into a fighting stance, bisento ready.

Marco surprised himself by grinning.

“Same here.”

 

* * *

 

 

“He kicked down half of the hill,” Thatch stated flatly, binoculars still glued to his eyes.

They had moved to a rooftop to have a better view of the battle now that it was day again. It still wasn’t enough to make out Pops’ form unless he was in the open, and they could only see the dot that was Marco when he was up in the air without the binoculars, but it was something. They had all, however, seen the hill crumble.

“You know Pops sometimes goes overboard,” Vista reminded Thatch, because he thought that, while it was true that Pops could be more mindful of his surroundings, Thatch was overreacting a little bit.

“It wasn’t Pops,” Thatch said, finally lowering the binoculars.

They all exchanged looks. Izo let out a short cough.

“I think I’ll start calling our allies to see if they can lend us some money. I have a feeling we won’t have enough by the time this is over.”

“I’ll help you,” Jozu offered, and they both stood up.

“Guys!” someone yelled from below, and Vista looked over the edge of the roof to see three of the men who had gone to check the wanted posters standing in the street. That had been yesterday.

“About time!” Ace yelled. “How much is that bastard worth?”

“Uhm… nothing.”

“Huh?” Thatch summed up their reaction after a beat of silence.

“We checked all the way back to Roger’s day and even the small fries from the four Blues. There’s no one resembling that guy with a price on their head.”

“For now,” a second one added, and didn’t wait for them to ask. “We caught a few calls from our marine tails. They’ve informed their headquarters of the fight, and while they don’t have any info on the guy yet…”

“It’s just a matter of time,” Vista surmised.

“He’s gonna get one hell of a bounty after this,” Thatch said with a grin. “Should we add that to the bets?”

Izo sighed.

“We’ll go take care of those calls.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Flying?” Sengoku asked, his third cup of tea in hand.

“Yes, sir. The ships spotted something up in the air above the island, but they can’t obtain a clear enough image to identify it,” Brannew reported, expertly ignoring the Garp-shaped hole in the wall. Garp had heard about the mess; Sengoku was too short on sleep to deal with him.

“A devil fruit, maybe. Check which fruits afford the user the ability to fly and see what we have on their current users.”

“Yes, sir,” Brannew replied, saluting.

“Lieutenant Commander,” he called before Brannew could exit his office, “is the fight still on?”

“Sixteen hours and counting, sir.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Aren’t you hungry?” Whitebeard asked sometime in the late morning, after Marco had finally managed to land a highly satisfying kick to the side of Whitebeard’s head. Absolutely worth the crash and consequent skidding through the corn field that had followed it.

“Not particularly. Are you asking because you want to stop?” Marco asked back, brushing corn off his pants. Between this, dust, soil, and blood, getting these clothes clean would take a lot of effort. He would have to mend a few rips, too. Buying new ones would be much easier, but Marco didn’t exactly have any spare cash right now.

“No. I just wondered if you might.”

“Well, don’t bother. I’m not going to give the fight up so easily.” What Marco didn’t say was that a side effect of his powers was that it took a considerable amount of time for him to truly feel hungry. Or thirsty. He was actually counting on thirst or hunger hindering Whitebeard at some point.

 

* * *

 

 

In retrospect, Marco should probably have expected the Whitebeard Pirates to have a contingency plan in place to take care of basic needs such as water or food during extended battles.

Right after pushing Marco out of the sky with a flying cut —it had been a risky attack from the start on Marco’s part— Whitebeard extended his other hand and caught something that had been flying in their direction. A bag, Marco noticed. Keeping an eye on Marco, Whitebeard opened it to check its contents. Marco waited, because his pride didn’t allow him to attack an enemy so obviously distracted when his life wasn’t in danger. Even if he knew Whitebeard’s guard wasn’t lowered at all.

He blinked, confused, and it was mostly instinct that made him react in time to catch the bottle of water Whitebeard threw his way instead of dodging it.

“What’s this?” Marco asked, not sure if he meant why Whitebeard had been sent provisions or why he was sharing them with Marco.

“My sons wouldn’t let us go unnourished just because we’re distracted. Thatch would probably kill us.”

“Huh. They do this when you’re fighting someone who’s actually trying to kill you, too?”

“You mean you’re not trying to kill me?” Whitebeard asked with a laugh.

“Of course not, I’m not crazy.” Because, aside from the fact that he would have the entire Whitebeard Pirates and their allies gunning for his head, if by some miracle he managed to kill Whitebeard the whole world would be interested in him. Marco wasn’t keen on that idea.

Whitebeard laughed.

“I think a case for your sanity could be made the moment you attacked me.”

Marco glared at him.

“Are you going to eat that or not? I’ll be nice and _won’t_ attack you while you do.”

“Mh? You’re not joining me?”

Marco would be surprised if it wasn’t for the fact that Whitebeard was trying to convince him to join his crew, so it made sense he would be nice to him. While it was true that Marco could function without food, if he ate that was energy he could spend on something else, plus the extra energy afforded by the food. And he could still count on lack of sleep to eventually hinder Whitebeard.

“This is just a break.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Did it work?” Vista asked.

“Yes,” Izo replied, leaning forward. “I think they’re actually sharing the food.”

A collective sigh of relief went through the crowd at that.

Pops was on very strict orders to be mindful of his health, and even if the nurses weren’t here, they would give them hell if they let Pops go on for days without nourishment, like every other time it had happened. Unfortunately, they couldn’t manage it with every opponent: pauses were out of the question against Kaido; they had managed it with Big Mom a few times if they threw in enough sweets to entice her to stop; Shanks was okay with the pauses (they basically did friendly spars anyway); whenever Garp dropped by for a fight, the trick was enticing _him_ to take a break with enough food that it wouldn’t result in Garp attacking Pops to eat everything; and the one time they had met Rayleigh _Pops_ had been the one to refuse to stop. He had been subjected to three hours of scolding for that one, with Rayleigh laughing his ass off the entire time while he drank Pops’ booze. They hadn’t been sure whether or not Marco would be fine with a pause. Pops? Sure, he probably thought of Marco as a son by now, and he always insisted his sons took breaks when they were fighting each other (sometimes those fights dragged out, because they were all stubborn bastards), but they didn’t know Marco, and the Red Horn Pirates had been unable to offer any insight on the matter.

The Red Horn Pirates, by the way, were currently confined to an empty house, because the captain had woken up two hours ago and he had been less than pleased to learn that Marco was actually _strong_. Ace had grown sick of the tirade, knocked him out again, and suggested to lock them up.

“You do realize this is going to prolong the fight, right?” Ace asked, and Thatch was reminded this was the first time he witnessed a fight that had gone past four hours since his arrival in the crew.

“When things get to that level, a little food doesn’t make that much of a difference,” Thatch explained. “Pops can go _days_ without stopping at all, longer than that fight of yours against Jinbe, but then we’d all be murdered by the nurses, so we try to get in some breaks here and there.”

 

* * *

 

“Why do you want me to join your crew so much?” Marco yelled down late that evening. He was higher in the sky than he had been any other time during the battle, but he had just managed to disarm Whitebeard —somehow— and was trying to find a way to get the bisento out of the fight without Whitebeard retrieving it easily.

“I already told you: I like you,” Whitebeard replied, his eyes scanning Marco. He was probably trying to find a way to recover his weapon, which was why Marco was so out of reach in the first place.

“You like me so much you’re willing to go to this extent to ignore my refusal?” Marco threw back, sarcasm and skepticism dripping from his voice. There was no way he could make it to the coast to drop the bisento off —if he had a way to reach that far, he could simply flee the island— and there was no conveniently placed deep hole in the ground to throw it in either. That wouldn’t work even if there _was_ a hole, anyway.

“Exactly,” Whitebeard replied with the grin Marco was starting to think was his default when he wasn’t angry.

“That’s bullshit,” Marco said, separated his talons as much as he could while still holding onto the weapon with both of them, and snapped the bisento in three pieces. He caught the piece with the blade before it could go down and smashed the metal into tiny, useless fragments. “I don’t want to join your crew.”

Whitebeard was no longer grinning. Marco did, instead.

“Too bad. I want you to join,” Whitebeard stated gravely, which wasn’t the response Marco had been aiming for by destroying Whitebeard’s trademark weapon.

 

* * *

 

 

“He… broke Pops’ bisento,” Thatch whispered, stunned.

“What?!” Haruta yelled, and snatched the binoculars from Thatch’s hand to check.

The Moby Two had arrived an hour ago —they had pulled out a bunch of sky island’s dials to cut through the distance faster— and now Haruta, Curiel, Blamenco, and Blenheim had joined the group on the roof, while Fossa and Rakuyo had gone to check on the island’s inhabitants with Izo. The citizens were all hiding in the town on the opposite side of the island.

“You’re kidding,” Curiel muttered, leaning closer to Haruta as if he could see through the binoculars that way. “How pissed is Pops?”

“I can’t tell, but they’re still fighting.”

“He hasn’t caused any earthquakes,” Vista commented, looking around at the still mostly standing town, “so I’d say he’s not too angry.”

“C’mon, Pops has had that bisento for longer than I’ve been in the crew,” Blamenco said. “He should be _pissed_.” He started searching through his numerous devil fruit-created pockets, and Thatch wasn’t surprised when he came up with a pair of binoculars of his own. Blamenco leaned forward with his binoculars and squinted. “Nah, they’re too far away. But it doesn’t look like much has changed.”

“What _did_ Pops see in him? Any ideas?”

Ace shrugged.

“What did he see in me?” While the question was clearly meant to be rhetorical, Thatch decided to answer it anyway.

“You’re the craziest rookie that’s appeared in years, your bounty was growing all the time, you had a five day long fight with Jinbe, and _then_ , all beat up and barely capable of standing, you went after Pops without a second’s hesitation. You impressed him.”

Ace hummed noncommittally. He still didn’t know how to reply to compliments.

“What about him? Marco, you said?” Curiel asked, and Thatch nodded. “What did he do?”

Thatch looked around at Ace, Jozu, and Vista for a little help, but they all just either grimaced or shrugged.

“We have no idea, honestly,” he replied finally. “Ace was the first one to notice him.”

“He was on a roof, over there,” Ace gestured at the remnants of the house in question. “I thought he was hiding, then he climbed down and looked like he was going to flee —he probably just wanted to leave, now that I think about it— so I attacked.”

Jozu scoffed.

“You burned down those buildings.”

Ace grinned up at him, his most innocent and least believable grin.

“He let himself get caught,” Thatch continued, because he had been paying attention after kicking Ace out of the fight, “and just sat out of the way watching the fight. I found that weird.”

“Why?” Haruta asked, handing the binoculars over to Blenheim. “We run into plenty of crews where some people are scared to fight us and just stay out of it.”

“Because he didn’t look scared,” Thatch explained. “Shit, he got so distracted watching the fight that he didn’t even realize he’d been _shot_ , and by now I’m sure he’s a haki user.”

“That’s probably what caught Pops’ attention first,” Vista mused. “Then he regenerated from the wound and was just annoyed by it.”

“And wasn’t afraid of Pops when he talked to him,” Jozu added.

“That still doesn’t explain _this_ ,” Curiel reminded them, gesturing towards the devastated fields and the dot sweeping down at Pops before lurching up again.

Thatch just shrugged.

“Pops blocked his face from sight while they talked. Who knows if he saw something we didn’t.”

Like with Ace.

What Thatch hadn’t voiced —he didn’t feel like being roasted today— was that Pops had once told him, when Thatch had asked why he insisted so much on keeping Ace on board after the first month of assassination attempts was over with no changes, that there was a kind of loneliness to Ace that he couldn’t simply ignore. Marco was alone, that much was clear —no one tagged along with a pirate crew they didn’t want to join _to the New World_ if they had any other way to get there— but whether or not it was anything like Ace’s angry loneliness, Thatch had no idea. He hadn’t looked anywhere nearly as angry to Thatch as Ace had been, even if he was insane enough to attack Pops.


	4. Chapter 4

Marco was faster than Whitebeard, but Whitebeard’s guard was impressive. That meant most of Marco’s attacks were riskier than he would have liked. And Whitebeard learned from his mistakes.

Marco cursed profusely in his mind when, after a failed attempt on Whitebeard’s right flank, he found himself pushed to the ground, Whitebeard’s left hand pressing his torso and arms down while the right one immobilized his legs. With his legs blocked and being held down on the ground, it meant Marco couldn’t escape the same way he did that morning.

“This time, I win,” Whitebeard said, triumph in his voice.

Marco made a show of raising his eyebrows.

“Not necessarily. I just have to wait for you to grow tired of holding me down; a slip is all I need, and I’m pretty sure I can hold out longer than you.”

“I could always knock you out,” Whitebeard suggested, and Marco smirked.

“You’re welcome to try. Which hand will you use?”

Whitebeard laughed.

Knocking Marco out was a remarkably hard thing to do, something no one had managed successfully in years. Marco was more likely to find a way to escape than Whitebeard was to succeed, given that Whitebeard didn’t want to risk killing him. He must have figured the same thing out, because Whitebeard’s hands remained firmly in place and his amused grin softened.

“Why do you refuse to come?”

“Because, as I’ve said _on multiple occasions_ , I don’t join pirate crews.”

“But you didn’t agree to join if you lost, just that you’d come with us,” Whitebeard reminded him. Marco opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t agree to stay any specific amount of time, either.”

Marco grimaced.

“Because I don’t want to stay _any_ amount of time.”

Whitebeard frowned down at him.

“What about this? You stay for a month. Then, if you still want to leave, no one will stop you.”

Marco paused to consider Whitebeard’s offer. It was hard to tell in the near darkness, but neither his voice nor what Marco could sense from him suggested a lie. Marco had spent longer periods of time with many groups, be it pirate crews, merchants, or explorers. He _could_ work with a month, even if he would much rather just leave than take the risk.

“I want your word on that.”

“You have it. If you want to leave when a month has passed, no one will do anything to stop you.”

Marco nodded.

“And you’ll stop calling me ‘son’, ‘kid’, and ‘brat’,” he added.

Whitebeard chuckled.

“I can’t promise that. It’s how I talk to kids.”

“I’m no child. If you insist on calling me that, there’s no deal. I can wait for you to grow tired.”

Again, Whitebeard frowned and looked him over. Marco was dead serious —he was _not_ a child, and he really didn’t appreciate where his mind went whenever he was addressed that way— and Whitebeard must have seen some of his thoughts on his face, because he nodded.

“Will you tell me your name, then?”

“Marco,” he offered finally.

“Do we have a deal, Marco?”

“We do,” Marco agreed, nodding.

“Don’t kick me now, you’ve got some dangerous talons there,” Whitebeard said, his expression going back to a grin, and while Marco smirked, he didn’t make any move to attack when he was freed and Whitebeard stood up. “We should go see how my children are doing. A lot of them have arrived while we fought.”

Marco grimaced as he too stood up. He wasn’t getting rid of those words even if they weren’t aimed at him.

“If anyone is stupid enough to attack me, I’ll retaliate,” he warned, but Whitebeard just laughed.

“I think not even Ace will be that suicidal after this show.”

Marco looked around. They had started walking —he had to jog a little to keep up with Whitebeard— and even if he couldn’t see much now, he knew in just how bad of a state they had left this place.

“It’ll be fine,” Whitebeard said, looking down at him. “We’ll pay the island to cover for everything we’ve damaged and make sure they receive everything they need to get by fine until they’ve rebuilt the buildings and re-grown all the crops.”

“Do you have enough money for that?” Marco asked, dubious, because the Whitebeard Pirates were a very large crew that must require a lot of money just to take care of, and this was an immense expense to add to that. As far as Marco knew, they didn’t receive any kind of payment from their protected territories that would add to their treasure like other pirates did.

Whitebeard laughed.

“If I know my children at all, they’ve already called our allies for help.”

 

* * *

 

 

It had just gone dark and Vista was the first one to warn them that Pops and Marco were approaching, much to everyone’s surprise.

“Now?! It didn’t look like they were anywhere near done,” Blenheim said, turning to Vista.

“I thought it’d take Pops longer to knock Marco out, after what I’ve seen,” Haruta commented.

Vista grinned, in an amused and infuriating way that had preceded observations about Ace’s murder attempts weeks ago.

“Oh, Marco is still conscious.”

A cacophony of comments rose in reply to that. From what Ace could discern, everybody had believed that Marco would be too stubborn to give in. And, from what he had witnessed, Ace had shared that opinion. But nobody here knew Marco, so they hadn’t had much to base their guesses on.

A very familiar laugh cut through the yelling that had increased after it was confirmed that _no one_ had bet on Marco being still conscious by the end of the fight, nor this length of time for the fight because after the failed fourth round of bets people had grown tired of falling short and started to bet on longer lengths.

Everybody fell silent and turned to watch Pops’ large form approaching through the main street. Next to him walked Marco, hands in his pant pockets and face hidden in the dark.

“You cheated, Pops,” Rakuyo, who had joined the bets with a three day prediction, accused jokingly, and was immediately followed by many others. Pops just laughed again.

“Sorry, sons, but Marco and I have reached an understanding.” Ace was surprised that Marco had given Pops his name after his original refusal, but on second thought it made sense in their current circumstances. “He’ll be staying with us for a month. It’s up to us to convince him to stay longer.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Marco muttered, perfectly audible in the silence that followed Pops’ announcement, and it set Pops off again. They were close enough that Ace could see Marco’s face now; he didn’t look to be particularly bothered by the laughter.

“Okay, so should we get started on dinner?” Thatch asked, already gesturing for the other cooks to follow him.

“I’ll go tell the citizens they can come back now,” Izo announced.

 

* * *

 

 

The Whitebeard Pirates had taken Marco’s presence in stride —Marco knew they had assumed he would lose eventually— and were now readying the area for a party, because apparently even a reason as stupid as this one was enough for a celebration.

Whitebeard had gone straight for a giant bottle of booze and was chugging its contents down right now. He had offered Marco some, but Marco had refused. He was now sitting on a rooftop, observing the proceedings.

For all their easy acceptance of his presence, no one had approached him.

Until now.

“Sorry about,” Fire Fist started, standing behind him. Marco could hear the grimace in his voice, “you know, nearly burning you.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Marco replied, turning around to look at him.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know that.” Fire Fist sat next to him, cradling a mug in his hands, and hesitated a moment. “Does it hurt?” he asked finally, plain curiosity on his face.

“Does what hurt?”

“The attacks, before you heal.”

“Rarely,” Marco replied truthfully.

“What about now? I mean, this is _Pops_ we’re talking about.” Marco had known the Whitebeard Pirates had a family dynamic even before meeting them, but it was still odd to hear that word thrown around so casually.

“He wasn’t trying to kill me,” Marco pointed out.

Fire Fist scoffed and took a quick swallow from his mug.

“He wasn’t trying to kill _me_ either, and it sure as fuck still hurt like hell.”

Marco felt curiosity stir in him despite himself.

“That sounds like a story.”

Fire Fist laughed, which drew some glances their way.

“Would you believe it if I said I was even less willing than you to join the crew? I spent _months_ trying to kill the old man.”

As Fire Fist spoke, reminiscing about his arrival on the Moby Dick, his violent reactions to any gesture resembling kindness or friendship, and his most memorable assassination attempts, Marco understood why no one else had approached him.

 

* * *

 

 

“Why are you so insistent on having him join us?” Jozu asked, watching as Ace waved his arms around while he spoke to Marco.

“I like him,” Pops replied, taking a swig from the bottle he had all but jumped on as soon as he had sat down. He always went straight to get some booze after a fight longer than a few hours, and the crew knew to have one of his bottles ready.

“Can’t you be more specific?”

“Haven’t you noticed? Marco is lonely.”

“Like Ace?” Jozu asked. Many of them had noticed the hesitant air that sometimes surrounded Ace even now, the one that marked someone who wasn’t used to being around large crowds of people, much less accepted by them.

“No,” Pops said, shaking his head. “Ace was lonely, that’s true, but he was _trying_. He’d found himself a good crew, and had that little brother he’s always talking about. Marco was traveling with people he obviously doesn’t even _like_ , much less trust, and he doesn’t want to change that. He’s given up.”

“So you’re going to force him to try,” Jozu guessed.

Pops grinned.

“You can’t tell me you don’t like him.”

“He’s got guts all right,” Jozu allowed. He wasn’t sure if he liked Marco or not, given that he hadn’t even talked to him, but he could admit he was an interesting guy at the very least.

Pops grinned again, but there was that serious edge to his expression he got when he was thinking about something.

“We’ll have to make an effort to convince him to stay; he has some seriously thick walls surrounding him.”

“They don’t seem so thick to me,” Jozu commented. Marco was the one speaking now, his eyebrows up in his forehead as he said something that had Ace blushing with one of his most embarrassed expressions on.

“Look closely,” Pops said.

Ace was talking again, waving his arms the way he did when he was trying to emphasize something was important, legs swinging from the edge of the roof, while Marco just sat, head turned to the side to look at him, with his arms resting on his knees, hands clasped together between them. His face didn’t change from that seemingly lazy expression with his eyes half-lidded he had been wearing since Jozu had first noticed him —it had only morphed to annoyance a couple of times at the start of his fight with Pops, at least that Jozu had seen. Jozu thought that might be Marco’s default expression, and it took him a while to notice what Pops must have meant in the dim light provided by the fires spread over the entire port now. Marco’s eyes, while they reflected the light from the flames, were flat, guarded. While Marco appeared interested enough in whatever Ace was saying that he was listening to him and even interjecting a comment here and there, he was keeping himself distanced from the conversation.

“He’s good,” Jozu said finally. He doubted Ace had even noticed there was something amiss.

“Too good,” Pops agreed. “One doesn’t become that good without a reason.”

 

* * *

 

 

Thatch walked up to where Ace was talking to Marco, carrying one of their largest trays balanced on each arm. The food wouldn’t be enough to sate Ace, but it should last him a while if he was distracted talking. Hopefully long enough to let Marco eat something.

“I bring food!” Thatch announced cheerfully, looking up at the roof.

Predictably, Ace jumped down with a wide grin and hopeful eyes. Thatch ignored him and looked up at Marco, who was still sitting on the roof.

“Aren’t you hungry after that fight?”

“Not particularly,” said Marco, but he jumped down anyway.

“You saying you could’ve gone on much longer?” Ace asked, an edge of teasing to his voice. “Someone’s conceited.”

Thatch didn’t let Marco reply, instead giving Ace his most incredulous look.

“Seriously?” he asked, and then gestured with his head between Marco and Ace. “Pot, meet kettle.”

Both of them snorted at the same time, furthering Thatch’s comparison.

“Shut up and hand over the food,” Ace demanded.

Thatch knew better than to stand between Ace and food, so he crouched down to place the trays on the ground (they hadn’t bothered to bring the tables out). Ace practically lunged at the food, and Thatch looked up at Marco with an amused smile.

“You probably want to hurry, before he devours everything.”

As it turned out, Ace wasn’t in the mood to be distracted from his food by something as trivial as conversation, and Thatch had to go fetch two more trays to ensure the three of them were properly fed.

“So,” Thatch started when Ace was the only one still eating, “I imagine Pops has pestered you with this already, but why don’t you want to join us?”

“I don’t want to be a pirate,” Marco replied. Simple, and yet it didn’t make a lick of sense in this situation.

“But you want to travel with them?”

“Not really,” said Marco, confusing Thatch even more. “Pirates are practically the only people who dare explore the Grand Line properly, and especially the New World. In other places I usually travel with merchants or tourists, but here I don’t have much of a choice.”

“Then how come you don’t have a bounty on your head?” Thatch blurted out. “We checked,” he added when Marco sent him an inquisitive look. “I doubt the marines give much of a fuck that you’re part of a crew or not when you go around with them.”

“I make a point of staying out of the marines’ radar.”

“Oh,” Thatch said, then processed Marco’s words more carefully and very nearly cursed out loud. He gave Marco a wary sideways glance. “Say… Are you a ‘shoot the messenger’ kind of guy?”

Marco narrowed his eyes at him, and _that_ was definitely a suspicious look.

“Why do you ask?”

Ace only had one plate of meat left, but the little shit was pretending to savor it.

“What would you say if…” Thatch rubbed the back of his head. “You see, the marines have a thing for tailing us Yonko crews, and we may have, sorta, caught transmissions about the fight to marine headquarters.”

Marco went still, his eyes fixed intently on Thatch. It was creepy, and way scarier than if he had lashed out. Thatch gulped.

“What kind of transmissions?” Marco had the flat, terrifying voice down to a pat.

“The usual, you know?” Thatch replied, aiming for casual and falling short. He tried his fake marine goon voice instead. “’Whitebeard’s engaged in battle’, ‘this has been going on for an hour’, ‘holy fuck it’s been a _day_ …”

Thatch had always had a talent for faking whiny marine voices, and Ace snickered. Marco, however, didn’t appear amused.

“What do they _know_?”

“For now? Not much. They’ve got no pictures or anything, but they know who you traveled with, so it’s really just a matter of time before they find out something about you,” Thatch said, shrugging apologetically and attempting a sympathetic smile even though he didn’t understand what the problem was; he was too fond of appearing on the newspaper and having his bounty raised, after all.

Marco looked down at his hands with a frown and sighed. He muttered something that Thatch didn’t catch.

“I should’ve thought this through better,” Marco said a little louder.

Thatch grinned, both because of the comment and because it seemed Marco really wasn’t about to lash out at him.

“Yeah, man. Attacking Pops really wasn’t the smartest move.”

Ace snickered again, as if he hadn’t done the exact same thing. Again and again. He had long since finished his food, but he had let Thatch field the conversation for himself.

“You’re joining us, then?” Ace asked brightly. It was a surreal question, coming from him.

“No.”

Thatch and Ace both sighed. Marco was _stubborn_.

“This actually gives you more reasons to join, you know?” Thatch started in his most reasonable manner. “You’re going to get one hell of a bounty after that fight —the marines sounded pretty panicked— and it being your first one… You’ll attract a lot of attention from a lot of powerful people.”

Marco frowned again, but instead of replying he pushed himself to his feet and walked off. In Pops’ direction.

Thatch looked at Ace.

“He _did_ say no murder attempts.”

Ace tilted his head.

“Not really. I mean, he _said_ he doesn’t do murder, but he didn’t promise anything, did he?”

Thatch whipped his head around to stare at Marco’s retreating back. He didn’t _think_ Marco looked pissed enough to attack Pops again, but after he had done it once…

 

* * *

 

 

Jozu noticed Marco approaching at around the same time that Pops did, and they both turned to look at him. They weren’t the only ones: heads turned as Marco walked by, and there were more than a couple people not-so-discreetly moving away. Marco didn’t _look_ particularly annoyed or anything, but as it had been established earlier, Marco seemed to have an awful amount of control over his body language, and Jozu doubted his expression reflected his mood very often.

Marco stopped a couple feet away from Pops, crossed his arms in a gesture that somehow looked casual instead of defensive, and looked him in the eyes.

“Out of curiosity,” he spoke in a perfectly even and calm voice. Jozu suspected that voice would be _great_ for giving orders, better than yelling, “did you expect the marines to take an interest in me when we started fighting?”

Jozu winced, and he looked around for Ace and Thatch, who were watching from not too far away. Ace’s eyes widened and he pointed an accusing finger at Thatch, who threw him an exaggeratedly betrayed look and raised his hands in a helpless ‘I didn’t want to’ gesture.

Well, Marco would have found out sooner or later.

“Not really. I didn’t expect our fight to last long enough to draw their attention.”

Had it been a few weeks ago and Ace instead of Marco standing there, such a response would have prompted an immediate murder attempt. Marco limited himself to somehow staring Pops down for a long and tense moment that had many people other than them both fidgeting before he sighed.

“I _really_ should’ve thought this through better,” Marco said finally.

That broke the tense silence, some people going so far as to snicker (discretely, because nobody knew how Marco would react) and conversations started up again now that it appeared like there wasn’t going to be a repeat performance of the fight.

Pops chuckled openly, because he could afford it, and Marco didn’t glare at him, which was a good sign.

“Care to elaborate?” Pops asked.

For some reason, instead of a predictable reply like how he should have expected the marines to be keeping an eye on the crew, Marco frowned and looked Pops up and down, then glanced sideways at Jozu. Finally, he shrugged minutely, uncrossed his arms, and shoved his hands into his pant pockets.

“I knew the fight was going to last when I attacked you, and I’d heard about the marines keeping an eye on the Yonko. I ruined the anonymity I’ve carefully kept for almost fifty years all for a reckless moment.”

Part of Jozu’s mind processed there was more to that sentence than the words Marco had said, but the rest of it got stuck in the words themselves.

“You don’t look fifty.”

Marco smirked, for lack of a better word to describe the expression that took over his face, which wasn’t really a smirk at all, just closer to it than it was to a smile or a grin.

“I don’t age.”

And with that, Marco turned around and walked away from them. Jozu stared after him for a moment before looking at Pops.

“Is it just me, or have I missed something there?” he asked, because he felt as if there had been more layers to that sentence than letters had its words.

Pops hummed pensively, still looking at Marco’s retreating back.

“It’s not you, but I have no idea what it _is_.”


	5. Chapter 5

“The battle is over,” Brannew announced the second night. “There have been no tremors in over two hours, and our men report that the Whitebeard Pirates seem to be throwing a party at the port.”

Sengoku looked up from the paperwork he had been working on. There had been no real news about the situation with the Whitebeard Pirates other than the fact that Whitebeard’s fight had been going on the whole day, and he had resigned himself to average work as they waited for any changes.

A party was _not_ a good change.

“Have our people been able to determine if there is anyone new amongst the Whitebeard Pirates?”

“No, sir. And we have no news from the team tracing back the path of the Red Horn Pirates either.”

Sengoku sighed. He hadn’t expected progress on that front this early, and they couldn’t simply venture into the island to investigate later because it was part of Whitebeard’s territory and the Moby Dick would turn around as soon as they learned of the marines’ presence there.

“What about the Red Horn Pirates? Are they still alive?”

“Their ship is still intact, so our men are inclined to believe they are.”

“Good. Keep an eye on them. If Whitebeard doesn’t turn them into his allies, capture them at the earliest opportunity.” Whitebeard rarely killed the crews who challenged him, opposite to what many other powerful pirates did, but he didn’t always offer them the chance to join him either. Attacking one of his allies wasn’t worth the possibility of gaining information that would come out some other way eventually —especially if whoever Whitebeard had been fighting decided to join the crew— but that crew was still the best source of information on the mysterious flying maybe-devil fruit user.

As for the devil fruits that allowed the user to fly, the only recent user they had on record of a bird zoan was a member of the royal guard from Alabasta, and none of the other fruit users they knew of who could fly had a power that created blue light, so that had been a dead end. As for other fruits, they had no way of knowing whether or not they were in use. None of them had entered the government’s radar in years.

 

* * *

 

 

As the newest addition to the crew (and unofficially because he had been of a relatively similar mindset not so long ago), Ace had been given the task of showing Marco his room.

Under normal circumstances, a new crewmember would be assigned to one of the free beds in one of the ten-people dorms. Marco’s case was anything but normal, of course. Not only was he not officially a crewmember, but after that display of strength and how clear he had made it that he didn’t want to join them, many people were a little wary of the idea of sharing a room with him, in case he decided to drop his civil no-killing attitude. After some debate, they had decided to give Marco his own room, in much the same way that had been done for Ace —because people might like him, but they had been cautious about him when he first joined the crew officially after being subjected to his bad temper for months. In fact, they would be neighbors, given that both rooms were in a hallway of small cabins that in no way could fit ten people and which had been turned into storage rooms at some point. They even had a bathroom basically to themselves.

“We already moved your stuff,” Ace said, following Marco to the Red Horn Pirates’ ship.

“Yeah, well, excuse me for wanting to make sure you didn’t forget anything.”

They hadn’t, of course, but Marco took the maps he had drawn for the crew before they left the ship (“That asshole shot me. He can go draw his own maps.”).

 

* * *

 

 

The following morning, Vista led a group of hungover pirates to the fields and divided them into small search parties. While Pops had insisted it wasn’t necessary, it would be easier to repair his bisento than to commission a brand new one. Even if they had to replace the blade —according to Pops, Marco had pretty much pulverized it— having the handle would accelerate the process.

Marco had received a good number of glares when the bisento had been brought up during breakfast, still at the port, but he had ignored them all.

Vista was still reserving judgment on Marco because he hadn’t even talked to the man yet, but Thatch and Ace seemed to like him well enough. As did Pops, of course.

Last night’s exchange had at least proven that Marco could be reasonable, despite the first impression he had given most of the crew.

 

* * *

 

 

“Have you already decided what to do with them?” Marco asked, absentmindedly spreading and withdrawing the brightest flame he could create over his right arm.

Whitebeard squinted and covered his eyes with a hand. It couldn’t be more helpful than staying in the shade of the tallest building around.

“I haven’t had time to think about it.”

“You’re not killing them, then?” Marco’s hands burst into flames. He fisted them and spread the fire up to his elbows.

“No. I haven’t changed my mind on that point.” Whitebeard uncovered his eyes. “Do you _have_ to do that?”

“Yes.” Marco’s whole chest burst into flames. Whitebeard winced and slapped a hand over his eyes again. “Maybe you shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.”

Marco might not want to become a pirate, but he could be as petty as one.

“You’re a cheeky little shit.”

 

* * *

 

 

The citizens returned to town en masse past midday, reassured now that there would be no more fighting.

Izo went hunting for Thatch, a meal, and an update on events as soon as he was back at the port. He had seen some guys searching through the fields on his way back, putting on their best impressions of whiny five year olds as they did.

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow, Haruta had ended up in charge of talking to the citizens who had to estimate how much it would cost to repair all the damage caused to the island during the fight.

Unsurprisingly, after the end of the meeting, Haruta was heading to the communications room on the Moby Dick to contact their allies again and beg them for some two hundred million belis.

 

* * *

 

 

“You had to go and break Pops’ bisento, didn’t you?”

Marco looked up from where he was watching people move all over the port and met Vista’s eyes.

“Strategically, it was a good move.” Marco doubted Vista, as a renowned swordsman, cared for an explanation like that to justify the destruction of a weapon.

Vista scoffed.

“Well, your _strategy_ is going to cost us the price of forging a new blade and finding someone with the skills to create it. And, meanwhile, Pops is without a weapon.”

Marco hummed.

“I’m sure he can punch his way through pretty much almost any battlefield.”

“Almost, yes. But if we find ourselves in any battle where Pops will need his full power and he is still weaponless, I want your solemn word that you will assist in the fight, even if you haven’t joined the crew yet.”

Marco didn’t comment on the use of the word ‘yet’ in that sentence. Whatever the Whitebeard Pirates assumed Marco would or wouldn’t do about joining them, this request put Marco’s character in doubt, and that was more important.

“Of course I will. I’m not letting that old man get himself killed because of me.”

Vista smiled, looking both amused and genuinely grateful.

“Well, then, welcome to the crew.”

Marco rolled his eyes.

“No, thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sengoku had run the names of every single officer strong enough to lead an operation in the New World through his mind in search of who to put in charge of this mission.

As it often happened whenever it was possible, he settled for the most obvious choice.

“And this is all we know?” Tsuru asked, sifting through the meager report Sengoku had put together for her.

“So far, yes. I’ve ordered the ships tailing the Whitebeard Pirates to report any new developments to your ship as well as Headquarters from now on.”

“Hm. What’s with Whitebeard giving us so much trouble lately?”

Sengoku shrugged. He really liked things much better when he didn’t have to worry about Whitebeard of all people.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco scoffed when he finally made it to the room he had been given for his stay. His two bags were resting on the bed, and someone had taken advantage of the anonymity of the gesture to place a note on top of them.

_Dude, you should unpack_.

Marco almost didn’t, just to be contrary, but for once he had a set period of time in which he would stay on board a ship, instead of the uncertainty of whether or not he would have to leave at the next island, so he decided to unpack anyway.

Before anything else, he made sure that all his maps and his drawing and navigation tools were okay. If they had broken anything, Marco would beat the crap out of whoever had moved his things.

 

* * *

 

 

After some debate, it was decided that Fossa and Curiel would take the Moby Two and escort the Red Horn Pirates to the nearest island that wasn’t part of their territory with a warning that if they so much as looked funny at anyone on one of their islands, they were dead. In fact, Thatch —who was the one to deliver the warning because his flair for the dramatic always got the point across— had grinned and said they would ask Marco to take care of them. The captain had paled considerably, because once his rage had passed he had realized that he had tried to kill someone who could fight one on one against Pops, and he was now suitably terrified of Marco. Marco, who was sitting on a low rooftop during the explanation, waved at them, because apparently he was an asshole.

Curiel kind of liked him already.

Situation explained, Curiel yelled for the Red Horn Pirates to board their own ship and headed for the Moby Two himself.

The rest of the crew would remain here for a few days yet, at least until the Moby Four arrived, so they would come back to this island.

 

* * *

 

 

The Whitebeard Pirates were helping to repair the buildings that Fire Fist — _Ace_ , he had asked Marco to use his given name— had burned down. And the ones Whitebeard had destroyed. Marco hadn’t been asked to help, and he hadn’t offered to do it. Instead, he was taking advantage of the empty deck of the Moby Dick to mend the clothes from the fight yesterday. He would have done it anyway, but the good thing about an empty deck was that he didn’t have to deal with the nuisance that were those guys who decided to crack jokes about men sewing.

Well, the _formerly_ empty deck anyway.

“Is that worth the effort?”

Marco turned around to find Commander Izo standing a short distance away. Well, at least he was unlikely to make an unfortunate so-called macho comment.

“Of course. I’d have to throw them away otherwise.”

Izo gave the clothes an evaluating look and grimaced.

“That looks like the sensible choice. You’d be better off if you just bought new ones.”

“I would, if I could afford them. But I can’t, so…” Marco shrugged and went back to work, deeming the conversation over.

“You know money is not an issue in this crew, right? Despite the mess on this island.”

“Maybe, but I’m not part of the crew.” Marco had a feeling he would have to say those words a lot in the upcoming month.

Izo sighed and muttered something too low for Marco to understand. It was probably uncomplimentary.

“Do you accept help at least? It’ll take you all day to fix that disaster on your own.”

“Suit yourself,” said Marco, gesturing to the still untouched shirt.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco had sailed on enough pirate ships to know that they weren’t nearly as unorganized as many people believed them to be. He was thus unsurprised when Thatch pulled him aside to tell him the meal hours in the mess hall.

“Usually I’d tell you that sneaking into the kitchen for food is at your own risk —Ace and Teach are pretty much the only ones who dare do it— but I doubt anyone’ll have the balls to try to kick you out.”

Marco shrugged.

“I don’t think I’ll do it anyway; I don’t eat all that much.”

Thatch gave him a sharp and calculating look.

“You don’t eat much? Do I have to keep track of your diet?”

Marco scoffed.

“Do I look like someone who starves himself?”

Thatch didn’t reply, and Marco had the feeling that he would be keeping an eye on his meals.

_Wonderful._

 

* * *

 

 

On the second day of rebuilding, Pops asked Marco to help, and Marco surprised everybody by agreeing.

The Moby Four arrived around noon (they too had pulled out the dials to cut through the distance), bringing lots of treasure with them. They spent a couple hours harassing their crewmembers for stories about what had happened, and eventually Izo was forced to bring out his pistols and veto the request for a repeat performance of the fight (“It’s your problem if you don’t believe it, but we’re _not_ destroying this island further just so you lot can see we’re not lying.”).

Fortunately, most of the town itself had been spared damage, and despite a handful of accidents and some people’s absolute lack of building skills, everything that could be repaired now had been repaired by nightfall.

The Moby Two returned early the next morning, and the crew departed the island with promises to stay in touch and send in as much money and resources as were necessary.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco’s cooperation on rebuilding the town had helped get the crew to relax around him, a turn of events that was frankly annoying. Marco was used to spending most of his time on any ship on his own, but here he couldn’t take two steps without someone approaching him. Very few dared to welcome him to the crew, but they wanted to get to know him.

Marco didn’t want them to get to know him, nor did he want to get to know them.

By the third day of sailing, he had settled on simply ignoring anyone who tried to approach him.

Marco was utterly unsurprised when Jozu blocked his path on his way out of the mess hall the fourth morning.

“Can I help you?” Marco asked once it became clear he couldn’t intimidate Jozu into moving out of the way.

“You up for a spar?”

Marco blinked, caught off-guard by the question. He shrugged.

“I don’t hold back.”

 

* * *

 

 

An hour into the spar between Marco and Jozu the people from the Moby Four who had been skeptical about Marco’s fighting skills were starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, their brothers weren’t trying to trick them when they spoke of Marco’s fight with Pops. Ace found it hilarious, really, but he was too busy paying attention to the fight to think much about what the people around him were saying. That was until Thatch sat next to him.

Ace turned around to face him.

“Is it just me, or does it look like Marco is winning?”

“Marco _is_ winning,” Thatch said, sounding as incredulous as Ace felt.

Neither Thatch nor Ace could win a fight against Jozu, be it training or a real attempt to hurt him (in Ace’s case at first, at least), but now it was obvious that Jozu was barely keeping up with Marco’s speed and, while they were relatively matched, Ace thought Marco was stronger. It was mostly his diamond power that allowed Jozu to keep up. But it made sense, in hindsight, because while Ace had heard that Jozu was the member of the crew who could last longer in a one to one fight against Pops, he hadn’t heard anything about those fights lasting over a day.

“I’m still trying to figure out how the hell this guy’s managed to stay out of the marines’ radar for so long,” Ace muttered after Marco kicked Jozu through a wall. There were some complaints about the repairs, but for once they wouldn’t happen because of Ace’s fault.

Thatch shrugged.

“About that… I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell Marco this, but we caught wind yesterday that Sengoku has sent Tsuru to investigate him.”

“Is that bad?”

“Tsuru is one of the most efficient marine officers I’ve ever met. It’s just a matter of time before there’s a picture of Marco being passed around marine bases.”

Ace grimaced.

“Ask Pops to tell him.”

Speaking of Pops, he was sitting comfortably on his chair and laughing his ass off at the spectacle. Marco had actually kicked Jozu in Pops’ direction three times, and then had been forced to block a few deadly-looking retaliatory punches from Jozu.

 

* * *

 

 

“I have news for you,” Tsuru said on the den den mushi a few days after she had left Marineford.

“I’m listening,” Sengoku said, and she heard the telltale sound of him biting on a cracker.

“We have arrested the Red Horn Pirates.” Who hadn’t put up any kind of a fight; some had even looked _relieved_ about being arrested. Tsuru guessed that happened after having lost to Whitebeard and probably been threatened by him. “But I’m not sure how we should proceed now. I have an accurate description of the man who fought Whitebeard and I’m sending it to you —his name is Marco, by the way— but it seems he isn’t a known criminal: both the Red Horn Pirates and the Whitebeard Pirates looked into it, and I at least trust Whitebeard to have a good information network. But Whitebeard identified the devil fruit as the mythical zoan phoenix.”

Sengoku muttered something that Tsuru didn’t need to hear to guess wasn’t very polite.

“I’ll have someone look into what we know of that fruit. At least that explains somewhat why it took so long for Whitebeard to win if the guy is also a haki user,” Sengoku replied after a moment.

“About that…” Tsuru frowned. They had all assumed the thirty hours of battle were how long it had taken Whitebeard to win, and she had run into a worrisome surprise. “Whitebeard didn’t win; they reached an agreement. And from what I’ve been told, Marco didn’t look particularly worse for wear once the fight was over.”

This time Sengoku cursed out loud.

“And he’s _joined Whitebeard_?!”

“No. That is the only good news I have: he made it clear he didn’t want to join the Whitebeard Pirates. Everything I’ve found out is on the report I sent along with the portrait, but I don’t think there is much we can do now other than wait and see what happens.”

Sengoku sighed on the other end of the line.

“I miss the days when we only heard of Whitebeard when some idiot tried to challenge him and was crushed,” Sengoku muttered wistfully.


	6. Chapter 6

Jozu’s plan, Marco realized belatedly, had worked very well. The training session had given the Whitebeard Pirates something to pester Marco about other than his personal life and his reasons for not wanting to join the crew. That night at dinner, Marco found himself surrounded by excited pirates asking all sort of questions about the fight.

Marco _could_ brush them off or tell them to leave him alone, but even he sometimes wanted an easy conversation without pressure, and he hadn’t had one of those since he had left Sabaody.

Damn Jozu.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Vista was the one who approached Marco for a sparring session. While, this time, Marco knew what would happen afterwards, he surprised himself by accepting. It wasn’t very often that Marco had the chance to fight a truly exceptional swordsman, and the offer was too tempting to pass.

And Vista _was_ exceptional. His movements were quick and powerful, and his technique with two swords was very different from other swordsmen Marco had fought in the past. It posed a different kind of challenge from those other fights, one Marco enjoyed greatly.

 

* * *

 

 

Sengoku’s frustration hadn’t lessened.

Identifying the devil fruit didn’t shed any light on whoever this Marco was. According to the report Sengoku had asked for, the last known user of the fruit had been a captain in the guard of a New World kingdom —currently under Whitebeard’s protection, ironically enough— who had died long ago.

Sengoku was actually counting on the sketch that Tsuru had procured to gain some more information. According to what Tsuru had learned from the Red Horn Pirates, Marco had joined them at Sabaody, and thus Sengoku had dispatched a team to the archipelago to gather information there.

He sighed. Sengoku _really_ hated having this kind of concern, especially when it had to do with one of the Yonko or Garp’s goddamned family.

 

* * *

 

 

“That was a very good idea,” Pops complimented.

“I know,” Jozu replied, and grimaced when Ace skidded across the floor. Part of the crew had to scatter to avoid being hit by him. “I figured Marco wouldn’t pass the chance to train against our crew, even if he still refuses to talk about anything more meaningful than the weather.”

And Marco hadn’t. He clearly knew what Jozu was playing at, but the chance to train with the Whitebeard Pirates was too good to pass, even if it forced Marco to interact with the crew during and after the fights.

“You rely too much on your devil fruit,” Marco told Ace, his calm voice somehow carrying over the jeers Ace had earned himself.

“I don’t,” Ace argued, sitting up.

“Yeah, you do. You’ve spent more time in the last half hour trying to find the right moment to throw fire at me without destroying the ship than you have spent trying to predict my attacks.”

Ace scowled but didn’t reply, and Jozu was surprised to realize that Marco was right. Jozu had grown so used to Ace’s fighting style that he hadn’t stopped to think about it, but Ace _did_ rely mainly on his fire attacks. Given Ace’s monstrous strength and his potential to grow even stronger, it was a waste.

“Your devil fruit is powerful, but it’s not your only asset,” Marco added, walking closer to Ace.

“Good point,” Pops said, his voice pleased. Jozu had the sudden realization that Pops may not have thought about this aspect of Ace’s fighting style either. Ace was powerful, powerful enough that Pops was thinking about offering him the position of second division commander, so why would anyone stop to think that one of his strongest assets might also be a weakness? “Why don’t you two fight without using your devil fruits?” Pops suggested.

Ace glanced up at Marco and grinned.

“You willing to fight without regenerating?”

Marco raised his eyebrows at him.

“You seem to think it will make a difference.”

Jozu shook his head in amusement. They were both _so_ cocky.

“How long will it take Ace to remember that Marco is a haki user?” he asked Pops in a low voice.

Pops chuckled.

“About two kicks.”

Excited cheers rose amongst the crew when Marco and Ace moved away from one another and fell into fighting stances.

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you think of the crew?” Whitebeard asked at lunch, and Marco tried not to roll his eyes.

“I guess I’ve met worse.”

Whitebeard chuckled.

“I’ll take that as a good sign.”

“You shouldn’t. I’ve met many people whose presence I could tolerate, and I didn’t join them.” He had considered joining a crew once before, but that was something Whitebeard didn’t need to know. Marco wasn’t going to do the same this time.

“We still have most of the month to change your mind,” Whitebeard pointed out, and Marco sighed.

“Can we not have this conversation again?” Marco asked in exasperation.

Whitebeard chuckled.

“Of course. That’s not why I’m here.”

“No?” Marco asked, raising his eyebrows.

“We’ll reach an island tomorrow,” Whitebeard said conversationally, and Marco nodded. He knew, he had been keeping track of their route. “So I wanted to give you this. Everybody in the crew gets a cut of the treasure,” he said, offering a handful of bills to Marco.

“I’m not part of the crew,” Marco said. He didn’t reach out for the money

Whitebeard wasn’t deterred in the slightest.

“Consider it a thank you for helping my kids train, then.”

Marco frowned at the money. He didn’t want to accept it because that was what Whitebeard wanted him to do, but at the same time he was practically penniless and what Whitebeard was offering him would be extremely useful in the future.

Sighing, Marco reluctantly reached out for the money.

“Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re with us,” Vista announced, moving to stand next to Marco as their ships entered the port.

Marco looked at him, his eyebrows raised.

“To do what?”

“We’re going to look for someone who can repair Pops’ bisento, obviously. You should deal with the consequences of your actions.”

Vista chuckled when Marco rolled his eyes. What he didn’t tell Marco was that they had come to this specific island because the man who had made Pops’ former bisento currently lived here.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco hadn’t received such murderous glares in a long time, and it had been even longer since he had been scolded. Scolded, him, for making the very logical move of destroying his opponent’s weapon.

Half an hour into the meeting with the blacksmith, Marco had told Vista he didn’t care about ‘dealing with the consequences of his actions’ and had left the shop, ignoring the snickers that followed him.

The problem was, he didn’t have anything to do.

Now that his clothes were mended, there was no reason for him to buy new ones yet. He had more than enough drawing supplies to last him a while, and he had been to this island twice in the past, so he had no need to draw any maps. Drinking was out of the question, as it wasn’t as though he could get drunk. Marco usually only drank when someone else was paying.

He’d passed a few familiar faces, but declined the invitations to join them. This port town was currently teeming with Whitebeard Pirates, and while the island wasn’t part of the crew’s territories, none of the inhabitants looked particularly bothered by their presence.

It was then that Marco heard yelling.

He sensed Ace approaching at a fast speed, and soon he dashed by Marco’s side, diving into the nearest alley. Before Marco could say anything, two burly men came running right after Ace. They entered the alley as well, but after some mutterings and a few crashes they came out again and rushed down the street.

Curious, Marco waited until they were out of sight to enter the alley. It was a dead end, and he looked up to where Ace’s presence was clearly hiding on top of a roof.

“What was that about?” Marco asked.

Ace’s head appeared over the edge, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Dine’n’dash. They weren’t very happy.”

Marco raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t you have money?”

Ace grimaced.

“Well, yeah, but they were being disgusting to some kids, so…” Ace shrugged, as if to say ‘what can you do’. “They’ll be busy now.”

Marco was surprised by this answer. He was expecting something along the lines of using the money for something more useful, not… well. Ace’s reputation didn’t lend itself to make anyone believe he was the helping others sort of guy. Even if Marco knew better than to believe everything the rumor mill had to say.

He climbed on the roof next to Ace.

“You don’t seem the type to help kids.”

Ace shrugged.

“Big brother instinct, I guess.”

“You have a brother?”

That was how Marco learned about the existence of one Monkey D. Luffy and the fact that Portgas D. Ace was a very proud older brother.

In the end, Ace dragged Marco into a bar and insisted on buying him a drink.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco couldn’t sleep. It happened sometimes and, while not a big deal, insomnia bothered him. It rarely came out of harmless things like being too focused on something to stop. No, Marco’s insomnia was always due to the same fact: his mind’s refusal to leave certain things be.

His mind had been particularly active over the past week.

Giving tonight’s attempt up as a bad job, Marco rolled out of bed, threw some clothes on, and left the cabin he was staying in. The hallways were mostly silent, but he passed noises and conscious presences now and then, until he reached the nearest door to the deck. Right outside, a small group was gathered around a lamp, cards in most hands and small and large piles of money by most people.

Marco didn’t know anyone in that group by either name or face, but everybody in the crew knew who he was.

“Oh, hey, Marco!” one of the few men who wasn’t playing greeted him, twisting around to look at him. “Wanna join in?”

Marco didn’t miss the fact the game had halted, everybody hiding very poorly that they were paying attention to him.

“No, thanks. Last time I played I lost all my beli,” Marco said, and he nearly paused his steps when he realized how wordy his reply had been. He waved over his shoulder and walked off before anyone spoke, cursing himself for having said anything more than a curt refusal. He wasn’t supposed to be volunteering any information.

Nothing.

He blamed his stupid brain that wouldn’t stop _thinking_.

Marco didn’t stop walking until he was far from any of the lamps strewn across deck. He looked up at the clear night sky before jumping into the air.

There were few positive aspects about his current circumstances, but one of them was that the Whitebeard Pirates already knew about his devil fruit power. He didn’t have to hide or lie low, so he would take advantage of the chance to fly over open sea.

 

* * *

 

 

Keeping tabs on the marine’s attempts at identifying Marco was both a source of amusement and a challenge for some members of the crew. Besides, Pops had asked them to do it in the first place, so Haruta didn’t feel bad about using all of their resources to ensure they were updated on any new moves.

Two days ago, Marine Headquarters had sent copies of Marco’s portrait out to every base, and while there was no mention of a bounty, it was hilarious to overhear the conversations when some self-important goon asked what was so special about this Marco guy that they were required to search through their entire records for any mention of him. Haruta had actually put together a compilation of the best reactions to the answer and had been sharing it with anyone who was interested.

By chance, Marco himself had been one of these people. He’d been walking by during one of the replays, and afterwards had asked Haruta if he could hear the recording. Haruta had been pretty shocked to realize an amused smile — _an actual smile_ — was on Marco’s face by the end of the recording.

Marco hadn’t asked anything about the marines’ progress, but Haruta had decided to tell him anything as soon as it came up. While hilarious, this was also a big deal with the potential of having serious repercussions for Marco. It was a family’s job to look after their members, even if said members refused to admit they were part of the family.

 

* * *

 

 

In theory, Ace’s watch was over. He should be in bed, he always crashed on his pillow before passing out after a night shift of watch duty, but today he had too much in his mind.

Second Division Commander.

Pops wanted to offer him the now empty position of Second Division Commander. Ace had heard about it earlier today, and from what he’d been told everything was already set, just waiting for his response.

Under different circumstances, Ace would accept in a heartbeat. He’d been a captain, he could certainly be a commander, but… but these weren’t different circumstances. Being a member of the Whitebeard Pirates could be troubling enough sometimes, when he allowed himself to think that he was an intruder everybody was unaware of, but to become a commander…

It would be like a betrayal.

He reached his destination, the out of the way corner of deck where he sometimes went to think, only to find it already occupied. Marco was standing there, his back to him and looking out at sea. He turned his head to look at Ace before he could utter a word.

Ace opened his mouth, about to apologize and go find somewhere else to think, but changed his mind. Everybody he’d talked to in the crew since this morning had been pretty enthusiastic about the idea of him becoming a commander, but Ace hadn’t been able to voice any of his real concerns out of worry that they’d pry too much. Marco, however, was unlikely to pry. He was too busy being uninterested and maintaining his distance for that, and yet Ace somehow found him to be a very easy person to talk to all the same.

“Mind if I ask you something?” Ace said instead, and, realizing how Marco might take that as yet another attempt to pry into his life, rushed to add. “I got an issue, and I could really do with a second opinion.”

Marco’s face softened, the frown that had appeared gone, and he gestured for Ace to join him.

“I can’t promise I’ll be of any help, but go ahead.”

Ace smiled at him in thanks and walked up to the railing, where he all but dropped his arms before crossing them over the wood.

“So, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but apparently Pops wants to make me Second Division Commander,” he began, and found himself trailing off and looking sideways at Marco.

Marco was looking at him, that calm expression of his on his face as he waited for Ace to continue. Ace took a deep breath, reminded himself that Marco wouldn’t tell anyone about this (because that would mean getting involved with the crew and all that) and went on.

“I’m flattered, don’t get me wrong, but… You see, there’s this one thing I haven’t told Pops. It’s kind of important, and I’d feel like an asshole if I accepted the position without telling him, but…” Ace trailed off again, not quite sure how to put to words what he feared would happen if he did tell Pops the truth about himself.

There was a short silence before Marco spoke.

“Sometimes we are faced with options that go against every one of our survival instincts,” Marco began, his voice soft in a way that made Ace turn his head to look at him fully. Marco was staring off at the sea, though something in his eyes made Ace suspect he wasn’t seeing it. “When that happens, the best we can do is decide if the outcome we’d like is worth the risk we have to take.” Marco turned his head to face Ace. “If it isn’t, you can always refuse. Perhaps the old man will be busy enough pestering me to let you get away with it.”

Ace smiled for a moment at the reminder of how stubborn Pops could be sometimes. He turned back to look at the dark sea.

“That simple, huh?”

“It _sounds_ simple; doesn’t mean it is,” Marco pointed out.

They both fell silent for a long time, Marco’s words running through Ace’s mind. He was right, the process sounded simple, but once he added emotions and fears to the mix it was anything but.

Ace glanced at Marco again. A doubt had sprung in his mind, born from both Marco’s words and the voice he’d spoken them in. He was unlikely to get an answer, Marco would just brush him off and walk away. Still…

Well, Ace was called reckless for a reason.

“Have you ever done it?”

Unsurprisingly, silence greeted him. And yet, when Ace expected Marco to push away from the railing and leave, Marco surprised him by speaking.

“I almost did, once.”

Emboldened by the answer, Ace pressed on.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because, once I knew all the details, I realized I might not be able to deal with the outcome.”

And then, later than expected, Marco straightened and turned to leave. He didn’t even say a word or look at Ace, but Ace didn’t take offense. He had stumbled onto something, he _knew_ it. Even without any details, Marco had revealed how to get him to stay. To an extent. Because Ace had no idea what held Marco back in the first place.

And, right now, he wasn’t even sure he’d be around to witness the outcome of Marco’s deal with Pops.

Because, what he _did_ know with sudden certainty was that he couldn’t step back. Commander or not, he was part of the Whitebeard Pirates, and guilt and doubts gnawed at him at the most unexpected times all the same. The Whitebeard Pirates were more than just a crew, and if Ace wanted to be a real part of them, he’d have to come clean.

At least to Pops.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](https://maisstories.tumblr.com/)


End file.
